


und die Wellen weinen leise

by moon_waves



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Reise Reise Era, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_waves/pseuds/moon_waves
Summary: First, there had been the pouring rain. Then, there had been the howling wind accompanying the thunder. And finally, the shadows of the night had merged with the shadows of the mind.





	und die Wellen weinen leise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hurt/comfort prompt n°1: “I heard you shout. Nightmares again?”
> 
> Anon, I hope you'll enjoy it!

> **1\. “I heard you shout. Nightmares again?”**

_El Cortijo Studio, Spring 2004._

The stairs were creaking slightly under his feet despite his best efforts and Till stopped in the middle of the staircase, one hand on the railing, listening to the sounds of the house. He couldn’t hear anything over the wind howling outside, the rain hitting the shutters hard enough for him to half-wonder if their recording studio was built to withstand sea-storms – but yes, of course it was, its architecture was proof of it. Thunder was rolling down a bit higher in the mountains, a deep, threatening sound that did nothing to ease his frayed nerves.

He thought he heard a whisper as cold wind blew over his neck and he turned around, but there was nothing around him – nothing out of the ordinary, in any case, and he knew the house well enough by now, considering how much time they had spent here while recording their new album…

Wood creaked a little farther in the house and he remained very still for a moment, eyes still unused to the lack of light. The railing was sticky under his palm and his wiped his sweaty hand onto the pants of his pajamas before a moving shadow attracted his attention. He turned his head slightly to the left, trying to figure out what it was – but no, the human form he thought he had seen was just born from too much darkness and a bad dream, nothing more.

He had believed to have heard someone talking to him when he had woken up, but his room had been empty, the other side of the bed cold and untouched, while the sheets underneath had stuck to his sweaty skin. He had remained there lying on his back, trying to recall his dream – nightmare? he wasn’t so sure anymore – but to no avail. Getting more awake by the minute, he had given up staying in bed, deciding instead to get down to the kitchen of their recording studio to fix himself something to drink – and without any alcohol in it.

The staircase wasn’t in the mood to let him go down quietly. The wood was creaking underneath him, when it never had done so until then – and the wind was still howling outside, sending a shiver down his spine. It felt as if there were a thousand eyes staring at him in the darkness, their focus sending electricity down his spine and yet disappearing every time he turned on his heels to stare at the insides of the house.

The studio was putting him on edge and he couldn’t figure out whether it was a reminder of his dream or just his imagination playing tricks on him because of the storm.

Yet, he could have sworn there had been no painting hanging over the staircase before…

Slowly, carefully, he made his way down the stairs, shivering a little as he finally reached the lower level. The house was plunged into darkness and he waited for a few seconds for his eyes to get used to it. 

A sliver of moonlight peered from behind the clouds, illuminating the floor in silver hues. For one brief moment he thought he saw a tall, emaciated hooded figure standing right in front of him, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.

Lightning suddenly caught his attention and he realized the shutters of one of the biggest windows in the living room weren’t closed, but rather still securely attached to the outside walls. He hesitated for a brief moment before moving towards the window, both eager to get closer to the light and vaguely troubled by the close proximity of the thunder and the forms painted by lightning bolts all around him.

The shadows over the walls looked like huge stains – old stains, of a dark brown that was more ominous than not.

A faint sense of unease started gnawing at his stomach as he slowly made his way through the living room. The furniture seemed to have moved one inch away during the night, gone from a few degrees higher, as if he was walking through a haze of alcohol. He kept hitting the couches and chairs surrounding them, shades dancing in a way that made him think someone was standing behind him.

Was going to attack him.

Berating himself for his nervousness – since when was he afraid of a little thunder, honestly? – he walked a little faster, reaching the huge window that usually oversaw the sea underneath before almost slipping on the tiled floor. 

There was something liquid on the ground, something cold and sticky, he could feel it under his foot. Sighing a little, he bent down to get some on his fingers, wondering whether or not there was a leak in the house. He couldn’t hear the sound of water hitting the ground, but with the storm that kept raging over their heads, it wasn’t surprising. 

It didn’t seem to be water to the touch, and he frowned a little as he raised his fingers in front of his eyes. Another bolt of lightning hit the mountains nearby, illuminating the room at the same time, and he realized it was blood on his skin.

He was standing in a pool of blood – and now he could hear it slowly dripping onto the ceramic tiles. 

The stairs creaked behind his back and he felt more than he heard a figure approaching, the sound of blood dripping onto the ground growing stronger by the second minute.

Till closed his eyes for a brief moment, his entire body going very still with tension. That careful walk sounded very familiar – but it wasn’t possible, _it_ was the stuff of nightmares, and he was awake, he knew he was awake, he had already woken up from his dream, it couldn’t be…

When he opened his eyes again, his reflection wasn’t alone in the window anymore.

Emaciated fingers settled over his left shoulder, the touch cold as death burning onto his skin, and he heard a rattle in his ears as he could clearly see the outline of the apparition behind him reflected in the widow, its tall frame hidden under a cloak. The hood brushed against the side of his head as the apparition bent down over him and opened its mouth to speak.

Only no sound came out of it, just blood and razor blades and he felt so small, small and vulnerable, and the touch was hurting him, he could feel the bruise forming already...

He whimpered and felt the hold grow stronger on his shoulder, bones creaking and breaking, sending hot sharps of pain in his back, razorblades tearing apart his throat. He couldn’t move, couldn’t move, the apparition – was it a ghost, was it a revenant, was it his own mind come to life to haunt him and bring him down? – still holding onto his shoulder, forcing him down to his knees, his head bowing of its own volition, and it _hurt_, he just wanted it to stop, it was painful, too painful, and the thunder was rolling down all over him, and he was drowning into blood, he was drowning, choking onto blood, it was rising to his waist now, and the shadows were holding down, shackling him to the ground, bringing him down, down _down_...

A lightning bolt suddenly hit again, blinding him and the cold death grip on his left shoulder disappeared, replaced by two warm hands holding onto him and shaking him vigorously.

_“Till!”_

He opened his eyes with a gasp and jerked away, shoulders jostling in an attempt to free himself – and it worked, the hold lessening until he could feel a touch that wasn’t restraining him anymore. 

He blinked a few times, Richard’s worried face coming in full focus in front of him, hovering over him, hair spiked hazardously around his head, the lamp on the nightstand emitting a warm glow in his bedroom. 

Rain was still pouring outside, hitting the shutters, and he could hear the thunder rolling not far from them, but the house was a lot more familiar this time. Everything was at its place, there were no strange shadows on the ground, no brown stains on the walls, nothing.

Just Richard sitting down next to him, looking at him with worried eyes – and the disheveled sight was such an abrupt change from his nightmare that it left him a little reeling, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him again.

Something must have shown on his face because Richard frowned a little before reaching for his shoulder, squeezing it a little before letting his hand rest at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the warm presence weighing comfortably on his skin.

“Did I wake you?” Till asked quietly, feeling his heartbeat gradually come back to a slower rhythm.

Richard stared at him, a frown still etched on his expression.

“I heard you shout,” he said without answering the question. “Nightmares again?”

Till lowered his eyes for a brief moment, feeling guilt wash over him. When he had taken the one bedroom without a door – secluded at the end of the corridor, next to the staircase – he hadn’t expected for old nightmares to come haunting him, but he had been mistaken. He had thought to keep the noise down, the first nights, but Richard had asked about it two days earlier, and even though he had changed the conversation then, it would be impossible to do so this time.

And he was too tired for that.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, barely hearing his own voice over the howling wind outside.

He shivered a little, not knowing if it was because of the cold spring nights or because of the remnants of his nightmare. He kept looking at his hands, fingers intertwined in his lap, wondering whether or not another one of his bandmates would wake up – it was growing likelier at the second, considering that the lamp on the nightstand was illuminating the whole corridor.

Richard’s left hand came to rest over his hands, squeezing his fingers, before his right hand moved from his neck to gently cup his cheek.

“Don’t be,” Richard said quietly before kissing him gently, a firm touch pressing chastely against his lips.

Their noses bumped together as they kissed and Till felt himself relax a little, comforted by the familiar gesture. He blinked a few times, feeling his eyelashes brush against Richard’s skin before the guitarist moved back, thumb stroking his cheek.

Such tenderness was almost painful, and yet he was always hungry for it.

Till gazed at him as he retreated, already missing the warmth of Richard’s lips against his. Something must have shown in his expression, because Richard came back to kiss him for a micro-second before settling back on the bed, keeping his hands where they were.

The frown on his face had morphed into a worried expression when he opened his mouth.

“You were begging for mercy again,” he said quietly and Till stared at him for a moment, not comprehending his words before he felt his heart stop for a second as cold dread washed over him.

Richard knew about those particular nightmares of his – couldn’t _not_ to, not after all this time spent living together over the years – and knew which corners of his mind were responsible for them, but it wasn’t something he wanted to share with the rest of the band.

There were demons he couldn’t release into the fire of their lives – not now, not ever.

“Did I…”

He looked around, first at the corridor and then at the communal space plunged into darkness – or, at least, of what he could see from the mezzanine – before shaking his head.

The words wouldn’t come – _couldn’t_ come – but at least his lover knew what he meant, and didn’t hold it against him when words were falling him like that.

“Want me to fix you some tea?” Richard asked in a low voice.

Till nodded. The kitchen had a door and they would have more privacy there than _here_ – which made it a much better place to spend the rest of the night.

They quickly made their way downstairs, Till turning off the lamp before leaving his bedroom space. The railing was cold under his hand but none of the stairs creaked under his feet, the absence of sound soothing his frayed nerves a little. Everything was slowly fitting back into familiar territory, Richard still holding onto his hand as they reached the kitchen, not letting go even as the door closed behind them. He turned on the light with a flick of the switch, the two of them blinking for a few seconds as warm light suddenly hit the room.

Thunder was still rolling outside but it seemed to be getting away, the howling of the wind less strong now – only the pouring rain hadn’t abated, and Till briefly wondered if he would have the time to get down for a walk on the beach and swim later in the day, once the sun would have risen.

Richard tugged him towards the cupboards and Till followed obediently, watching him fill the electric boiler and then prepare a huge kettle with green tea while the water was boiling, all of it one-handed, their fingers still entwined. He only sprang in action to get two mugs from the cupboards, Richard wedged between him and the kitchen worktop.

The position was giving them both ideas and he let go of Richard’s hand without too many regrets as the guitarist turned in his arms to face him, the worry on his face slowly abating. They looked at each other in silence for a moment before their lips met again. Till couldn’t have said who had moved first – all that mattered now was that Richard was holding onto his shoulders while one of his hands had moved to the guitarist waist, the other tugging onto his disheveled hair to gain a better access to his mouth.

Only the electric sound of the boiler going off interrupted them and Till regretfully let go of Richard for a brief moment, hurriedly pouring the hot water into the kettle before putting his hands on Richard again.

The sound of rolling thunder both made them jump a little, some swearing escaping him as lightning bolt suddenly lit up the entire room. A buzzing sound briefly came from the lightbulbs before a loud bipping noise went off, and the room got plunged into darkness.

The only source of light now came from the outside – the moon and stars they couldn’t quite see from the small window, half-hidden behind the clouds, as well as the various lightning bolts that were hitting the mountains over them.

“We will have to turn back on the electric meter,” Richard muttered without making a move to get away from between his arms, but rather shifting closer until Till could feel the heat emanating from his body.

“Later,” he mumbled in response before moving to kiss him, holding a little tighter onto his lover, some of his previous nervousness coming back.

It felt a bit more like his nightmare now, no light and thunder breaking over their heads. Richard quickly picked up on his change of mood and slightly tilted his head until they were kissing again, the passion of the previous moment gone for the time being.

They kept kissing until Richard moved away again, turning to pour some tea into their mugs. Till watched him move in silence, hands resting comfortably on his waist, feeling the cold air of the night brushing down his neck. It made him shiver a little, and then hold onto Richard a little tighter, nuzzling onto the guitarist’s neck.

Richard chuckled softly before bringing Till’s arms a little higher over his waist, leaning against the singer as they cuddled in the darkened kitchen. They remained in that position for a long time, listening to the raging storm outside. Richard’s fingers were drawing indescribable figures over Till’s hands and wrists while the singer kept holding onto him, moving every now and then to pepper butterfly-light kisses on each side of his neck.

“Tea’s going to grow cold,” Richard finally murmured after a long time, as the storm seemed to calm down for a moment.

The moonlight was hitting his face just so that Till could admire the way his eyelashes were resting against his cheeks, heat pooling at the bottom of his stomach at the sight.

“Your room?” he asked quietly, not quite inclined to remain in the kitchen any longer – or to move into the living room, even though they both knew from experience the couches were more than comfortable.

Richard nodded silently and they finally let go of each other, reaching for their respective mugs before leaving the kitchen to go towards the bedrooms. The staircases didn’t creak once under their feet, except for the last one, making them pause with trepidation. Not one sound could be heard over the howling wind and rolling thunder that broke over the house with renewed strength.

The reprieve had been too brief.

They quickly walked into Richard’s bedroom, Till feeling tension rolling off his shoulders as the door closed behind him. It wasn’t that their bandmates would bat an eye at seeing them share the same room, but the rest of the team they were sharing the recording studio with wasn’t aware of that particular development, and Till preferred to keep it that way.

Some things were better left private.

Richard aimed for the window, opening the shutters from the inside, pale moonlight and lightning bolts illuminating the room in a way that made it look like a gothic novel come to life. Till reached for the nightstand, putting Richard’s mug in a precarious spot between two books, a bottle of water and a huge pile of papers with scrambled writing on it. His lover stared at him, utter fondness clear on his face as Till was standing next to the bed, holding his own steaming mug of tea between his hands.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Richard said quietly, gesturing to the bed.

Till nodded before sitting down, patting a pillow before pushing it against the bedframe. It was already comfortable enough on its own, but he liked the additional weight that came from having a pillow nestled between his back and the bedframe – and he wasn’t the only one, considering Richard settled down in a similar position a few moments later, waiting for both of them to be all set before reaching for his mug of tea.

Their mugs clinked as they toasted, Till chuckling a little at the sight – there was something completely and utterly domestic to it, and it reminded him of years long gone, when they used to live together with his daughter, a mismatched family unit keeping nightmares at bay.

It had been a lot nicer than his own childhood nights, and his mood sobered at that, memories of his nightmare coming back in full force.

“Are you alright?” Richard asked in a low voice, noticing his change of mood.

Till hesitated a beat too long before nodding, staring at his steaming tea. He didn’t understand why he had dreamt of the faceless hooded figure tonight out of every night – hell, that particular visitor hadn’t haunted his nights in _years_ now, so why was it happening now all of a sudden? Recording their new album was going well – better than last time, in any case. Nightmares rarely came out of the blue, and he was usually honest enough with himself to know when unwanted visitors came to haunt his sleep…

He heard the rustle of the sheets as Richard took a few sips from his mug before putting it back on the nightstand and move closer to him until his lover was firmly pressed against his left side, face resting against his left shoulder, one hand coming to lay at the nape of his neck, playing with his hair.

“Did you hear me say anything, when I woke you, earlier?” he finally asked in a quiet voice after a moment of silence, slightly turning his head to look at Richard.

The guitarist gazed up at him, shaking his head before pressing a kiss against his shoulder and shifting until he was sitting straighter, hand still playing with his hair. His other hand moved until it was resting over Till’s left wrist, fingers almost brushing against his mug.

“You were begging for mercy,” he said simply, his hold over Till’s wrist slightly tightening for a brief moment before relaxing, “but you didn’t say anything that would have made sense to…”

He hesitated for a moment.

“To someone else.”

Till nodded, eyes drifting from Richard’s face to his mug of tea before taking a tentative sip. It was still a tad too hot but he felt cold now, despite the heat coming from Richard’s body, and tea would probably warm him up from the inside quicker than anything else.

Unless the two of them started _moving_, of course.

“Nothing incriminating, then,” he said quietly, Richard nodding next to him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, comforted by the light touches Richard was peppering over his wrist and neck. He felt both fragile and secure like that, held and taken care of – and the feeling almost threatened to overwhelm him, all of a sudden.

That kind of vulnerability usually came in the middle of the night.

He went back to sip his tea, not quite biting back a whine as Richard moved to get his own mug, before settling back against him, fingers intertwined again. They sat next to each other in silence for a long time, sipping their tea and listening to the storm outside, the two of them enjoying the simple pleasure of being next to one another, their sides pressed together. It felt almost as if they were alone in the house – alone in the world in a timeless alcove.

Until they heard a bed starting to squeak rhythmically.

Till raised an eyebrow and turned his head towards the bedroom door, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from before turning his attention back onto Richard, who was staring in the same direction, obviously biting his lip not to laugh.

They looked at each other, Till’s right eyebrow slowly rising as the seconds tickled by and the squeaking didn’t abate in the slightest.

“Is that coming from Ollie’s room?” he asked with incredulity, now almost certain he had pinpointed the source of the noise.

“Either that or Schneider’s,” Richard said with a little laugh before putting both their empty mugs onto the nightstand.

They exchanged another look before Till snorted, Richard laughing next to him as he moved to straddle him, hands reaching for his shoulders to steady himself.

“Want to let them know we’re awake, too?” the guitarist with fake-innocence, batting his eyelashes at Till, who seriously pondered over the question for a few seconds before regretfully shaking his head.

“One bed, we can blame it on the storm, two… our sound technicians are really going to have questions, if they hear anything,” he said with a mournful, half-annoyed tone at being the voice of reason for once.

Richard laughed again before moving to kiss him, hands moving to hold on Till’s hair, forcing him to tilt his head to look up to him. The position was putting a small strain on his neck but Till didn’t mind, enjoying the view as his hands moved to hold onto Richard’s hips.

The kiss soon grew more passionate, both of them taking advantage of the privacy of Richard’s bedroom to get more adventurous than in the kitchen, indifferent to the wind that was still howling outside and not even noticing the pouring rain hitting the window.

Till moaned into Richard’s mouth, feeling a sudden burst of passion flame through him as Richard tugged on his hair, his other hand still holding tightly onto his shoulder. His lover was in precarious balance over his lap and Till spread his legs a little, the gesture forcing Richard to glide down against him until his knees were securely resting against the mattress, bodies firmly pressed together.

One of Till’s hands remained on Richard’s hip while the other snuck to his ass, cupping it – the gesture enough to make the guitarist moan and curse, closing his eyes for a brief instant before opening them again, looking at Till with one eyebrow raised.

Who smiled innocently at him before patting his butt again.

Round and firm, very good to hold onto, if you asked him.

“I thought you wanted us to be quiet,” the guitarist said in a hiss, his voice a bit breathless as one hand was sneaking into his pajamas.

“You and I both know how to be quiet, don’t we?” Till asked in return, raising an eyebrow as well, before starting to move his hand up and down in a slow rhythm.

Memories of the last night they had spent together hovered between for a brief moment and Richard shifted a little on Till’s lap, a faint blush covering his cheeks. He usually was no blushing virgin – especially not with what they had done in recent memory, considering how pleasurable it had been – but sometimes, _something_ would set off a blush, much to Till’s delight.

“Don’t tease,” Richard warned him in a low voice before moving to kiss him, biting into his lip at the same time.

The taste of iron filled Till’s mouth and he moaned, hips jerking, the sound swallowed by Richard’s lips as his lover kept kissing him, tugging at his hair and setting the pace. Till was happy to let him take the lead, but he was also starting to get uncomfortable in his pajamas, the piece of cloth a bit too tight around him. He moved his hand from Richard’s hip to his own pants to get a bit more comfortable when Richard stopped him, holding onto his wrist.

He paused, very still, opening his eyes to look up at the guitarist, who was still holding onto his hair with one hand, keeping his throat exposed for a better access, obviously enjoying his position if the firm weight against his stomach was anything to go by.

Richard opening his mouth to speak, pupils so dilated his eyes were almost black now, before the sound of wood creaking softly under light footsteps got them both to pause and turn their attention towards the bedroom door.

Someone was walking in the corridor – in the direction of their room, and the realization started dampening the mood.

Till’s hands moved back to hold onto Richard’s waist, steadying him as the guitarist’s hold relaxed on his hair before cupping the back of his neck, letting him stare straight ahead without any undue strain on his neck. He was still holding onto Till’s wrist, the gesture enough to keep them both very still while waiting for an eventual knock on the door.

And knocking someone did, but not on their door, rather on the one of the bedroom next to Richard’s, the sound enough to get them both to relax a little. They both listened as the door opened and closed again, footsteps padding softly against the wooden floor until the bed creaked slightly. Two voices could be heard faintly before a third one made itself known very briefly, and then went silent again.

Thunder growled outside, covering any sound that could have been heard in the house. They waited a little more, moments stretching into eternity, before the bed started squeaking again, a bit more loudly under the new combined weight of three people on it.

Till and Richard turned to look at each other, the same look of incredulity mirrored on their faces – infinitely more relaxed now that they were assured no one was going to come and bother them.

“Was that really…?”

“All three of them? At the same time?”

Till snorted at his own words, suddenly reminded of something he hadn’t paid any attention to before.

“No wonder Flake said no fucking on the tourbus,” he muttered with a little chuckle, Richard rolling his eyes over him before snorting too, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Looked like we missed a recent development,” he whispered against Till’s lips before moving to kiss him again, this time holding onto his hair a bit more gently.

Till moaned against his mouth, not caring about any undue sound this time, hands moving to cup Richard’s ass as they kissed, their embrace quickly growing more heated. Soon they forgot about what they had just heard, indifferent to everything but each other, not even noticing the pouring rain that was intensifying outside.

The night was theirs and theirs alone, and they both intended to keep it that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always more than welcome ;-)
> 
> [tumblr](https://ghostlovesc0re.tumblr.com/).


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